I only heard the sirens after I spilled the soapy bucket all over the floor. In reality, the sudden sound must have been the catalyst that led me to jump and tip over the bucket in first place. But the blaring horn didn't register until the second or third wailing crescendo peaked. The water dispersed itself across the wood panels, flooding the thin channels that separated one plank from the next. In some other life I would have wanted to splash around in the mess that was creating beachfront property in my front room. In some other life I would have wanted to scoop up the little clusters of pearly bubbles and send them sailing across the room. But this was not some other life, and the deafening sirens dictated that I should resign myself to my safe spot, which was, at the moment, under my bed. It wasn't any safer than being in the front room waving out the window, but I didn't feel like mopping up the mess I'd made during a raid, either.
I drew my makeshift curtains together, which were nothing but uneven patchworks of similarly colored old clothing. I hadn't seen any danger, not yet. I locked my door, which realistically wouldn't keep any determined person out, but it was still another barrier. Another precaution, as prescribed by the village counsel. Better than welcoming in an unwanted visitor. I traipsed through the puddle and into my bedroom, which didn't have a door to close. I wasn't as nervous as most of the other people in the village probably were. I didn't expect to get into any sort of scuffle today- I was protected, after all. Behind the walls of the village was another set of walls- meant to protect the most honorable ninja.
Surprisingly, I was a resident of the inner wall. It wasn't because of my impressive strength or skill, because I didn't have any of that. It was because of my lineage, and the specialty jutsu that supposedly ran through my blood. Unfortunately, any blood related to me was missing or dead. This lack of a family didn't cause me any great pains, because I had never gotten the chance to know them. Because of all this, I was considered valuable, and was issued a simple two room (three, if you count the closet-sized bathroom) house, and a small amount of money each month. It had been this way for as long as I could remember. When I was younger, the village took care of me much better. I had an elderly woman come visit every morning to bring me fresh provisions for the day. But as I grew up, and was able to become one of the few ninja in my village, these special comforts stopped. I was only able to make enough money to survive from my obligatory four-days-a-week watch duties.
If I was ever able to access and successfully perform my family jutsu- I had a free ticket to the cushy life. A better, more successful job in which my services could prove beneficial. But for now I was utterly useless, and considered a wasted investment. Still, I was a trapped puppet, perhaps useless beyond standard ninja training, but forbidden from taking missions that required me leaving the village.
I rolled underneath my bed, pulling with me a scratchy blanket to rest my head on. In the distance I heard faint screams and muted explosions. I would lay there for the coming hours, clawing at my hair, wanting nothing more than to defend my home. Even with my extensive training, even with my good but not superior abilities, I was not allowed to help. I was given strict orders from the head of the village. In the event of an emergency, I was to protect myself. Because apparently, if I could never produce the jutsu that every member in my family before me could, then maybe my children could. But what good would it do for the village if there was no village left?
I pondered my conflicting morals to the steady rising and falling of the siren. Here I was reduced to a coward, sheltered and left alone for years, and expected to recreate a jutsu from the records my parents had once kept. A jutsu that would make me even more of a prisoner than I already was, by forcing me to become a hired spy. What kind of life was that going to be?
After a while, the sirens subsided, and I crawled out from beneath the rusty metal bed frame. The house was dark, swallowed up by the night. I began to light the lamps that sat scattered around throughout my rooms. They flickered, casting ominous shadows against the stark walls. Pushing back the curtains, I looked out into the distance horizon. Smoke trailed up in thin, gray spires against the black sky. It seemed that we'd held back another attempt at overthrowing our economically appetizing fishing village. How we kept holding back these attacks, I wasn't sure. We had only a few extremely talented ninja, but we were not known for them. Any of the bigger villages could overtake us with little effort.
And suddenly, as I stared out the window, a bright light blinded my view of everything, and I dropped to my knees as my entire house began to collapse down on me, burying me under charred wooden rubble.
Somehow I had protected my head and remained conscious. But I was trapped in a coffin of debris, choking on a thick smoke. My legs were trapped underneath, crushed under a weight that I couldn't shrug off even with my training. I was unfortunately little for a ninja, measuring in at a measly 160 cm. Also unfortunately was that strength was definitely not my specialty. I felt my body grow weaker as I inhaled deep drags of smoke. My chest was tight, gasping for breath beneath the wreckage. A mixture of sweat and blood trickled down my arms. My vision began to go spotty as a dizzy haze overtook me. The only chance I had now was to make a pitiful attempt at a jutsu. I dug my arms through splintered wood towards one another, as by a fortunate stroke of luck they had not been crushed.
Somewhere I thought I heard voices, but there might have been an equal chance that they were imagined.
My hands finally clasped together, forming a series of slow, careful hand signs. This was my only chance. I held my breath, and tried to concentrate on my currently distressed chakra.
And suddenly, I couldn't see my hands. They flickered suddenly in and out of existence again. I knew I had no time to waste. I pushed myself up through the wreckage, as easily as if swimming through water. My legs, translucent, phased through the thick beam that had trapped them. I crawled through the mass, escaping the blooming flames that licked the remains of my house. Towards the edge, my lungs began to feel sticky and heavy, and my physical body returned with the presence of a searing pain in my calf. I continued to drag myself away from the immediate danger, but the clouds of smoke and dust fought me as if I were a thousand pounds. When I got the chance to look down at my leg, I saw that somewhere, in my transformation between the ghost-form and my body, the sudden switch back had caught a thin spear of wood inside of my leg. My stomach lurched as I heaved my body forward, staying close the ground in search of clear air. Everything around my house was destroyed, on fire, as if some huge explosion had occurred. My house was definitely not the epicenter, which became more apparent as I saw piles of nothing but black ash.
I was finally able to force myself to my feet, and broke out into a slow struggle of a sprint. The extra weight of the baseball-bat-sized wood that had become lodged in my leg proved to be a difficult feat. The sight and the pain made nausea well up inside of me. After a few minutes, I found a small shed that was left standing, where I took shelter. I collapsed on the dirty floor, swallowing thick gulps of fresh air. I then proceeded to vomit profusely, until I blacked out from exhaustion...